


Spanish and Salvation Part Three

by Des98



Series: The Spanish and Salvation Series [3]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Injured Harry, It is absolutely not okay that there are so many hits and so few kudos, Mama McGonagall, abusive dursley's, appreciate me properly or I'll take this shit down fuckers, im not a robot people, minnie ain't about that shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 16:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11971149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Des98/pseuds/Des98
Summary: Maybe the last work in this series; maybe not.  I don't know yet.  If there is more, it'll be drarry.  Happy nineteen years later y'all.





	Spanish and Salvation Part Three

Harry sat in McGonagall’s office with two sets of stern female eyes on him as he cursed himself for getting into this situation. A child with an upbringing like his should know how to lie his way out of a danger zone; but then again, the fact that he had so many scars was testament to what he lacked in that area. What would happen next? If he was forced to tell all, would he still have to go back to the Dursley’s? Dumbledore seemed insistent that he spent his summers there, and if they were to find out that he told what was done to him at his relatives’ home, would he manage to survive the summer? Even with his treatment being carefully kept a closely guarded secret (per Vernon and Petunia’s instructions), he still barely managed to survive there all these years. What if he had to drop the glamours?  
Harry crossed himself, trying desperately not to panic. While he wasn’t really religious, it was a comfort to him. When he was young and the Dursley’s were gone and Mrs. Fig’s either wasn’t available or he had been beaten to badly for her to see him, he used to pick the lock of his cupboard and walk four miles to a Catholic Church with a large Latino population that lay just outside the confines of Little Whinging. While he never attended services, there was a human-sized statue with the label “La Virgen Maria, Madre a todos.” There were signs and pamphlets on the wall in his native language, and he sat beneath the statue and read them. If he concentrated really hard, he found that he could make her hair look red and her eyes green like the picture of his mother he had found once before Petunia caught him and wacked him with the cast iron skillet and then told him to wash his blood off of it and make breakfast. He stopped believing in the church’s god after praying to him didn’t make the blows stop or the belt fall softer, but the statue became tangled with his mother in his mind, and until he learned her name when he went to Hogwarts, she was known as Maria to him.  
He was still frantically whispering “La Virgen, ayúdame, ayúdame Maria,” lost in a flashback, before Hermione’s gentle hand on his arm brought him back to reality. He looked down at his bruised arms and realize he’d dropped the glamours without even realizing it, shocked and horrified. He hadn’t let the glamours drop outside of his cupboard in five years, not since he was ten and accidentally discovered how to put them on. It was only later that he mused that someone had answered his cry for help after all, although whether it was the spirit of his mother or some manifestation of La Virgen Maria he didn’t know; he didn’t want to know- what was beyond this life he wasn’t going to worry about until he got there.  
He flinched away from Hermione’s touch despite himself; her fingers had brushed one of the tender cuts on his arm. She snatched her fingers back apologetically, and he brushed his head against her shoulder, trying to reassure her when he didn’t even know how to calm himself. The last thing he saw was the tears in her eyes before the exhaustion of holding the glamours, more evident than ever now that they’d been lifted, dragged him under, the room spinning.  
When Harry woke again, it was to see a blurry Professor McGonagall siting by his bedside. He could vaguely see her lips moving, but he couldn’t catch what she was saying. His fevered dreams had been in Spanish, and he was stuck in that odd sort of limbo common to bilinguals: trying to recalibrate his brain and hearing meaningless sounds as he tried to figure out which language he was listening for. By the time his tired, pounding head made sense to him, he managed to catch only the words: “…so I have signed the adoption papers, I now have sole guardianship of you; you’re safe,” leave the older witch’s mouth.  
“Wha… How? I thought I had to stay with ‘he Dursley’s?” he slurred, his confused voice tinged with a light South American accent.  
The tabby animagus’ habitually fell into the stern expression she gave to student’s when they asked a question they wouldn’t have if they’d been paying attention before her brain caught up to her muscle memory and realized she was talking to her sick little charge, not one of the Weasley twins.  
“We opened the will, Harry. If Sirius was unable to take you, I should have. I didn’t know this. I didn’t know there was a will. It was only through inquiry with Gringott’s that I found out that Albus was supposed to execute James’ and Lilly’s estate. I assume the reason why he didn’t had something to do with his neurotic obsession that you must remain with those… those…” she struggled here to find a suitable word without harking back to her natural inclination to drop some of the worst Scottish words, “people.” She finally settled on, her voice rising dubiously and her expression stern before she took in another breath to finish what she had to say. “He is currently facing inquiry, his fitness to be headmaster is being called into question.”  
Harry’s face looked panicked for a moment before the older witch put a finger softly on his cheek. “Don’t worry love, nobody knows what happened to you, that can stay between us and Miss Granger if you’d rather. In wizarding law, failing to act in the interest of a noble’s estate when you’ve been assigned is a serious crime; the fact it was your estate only makes it more likely that the headmaster will receive a harsher punishment.” Harry’s face relaxed, and his eyes drooped. McGonagall, of course, saw this.  
“Get some rest darling; you’ll be here for a while. I will return shortly- I just have some work to take care of in my office.”  
The green-eyed boy nodded slightly, feeling like the weight of constant anxiety that had followed him since he’d been dropped on the doorstep in Surrey had been lifted off his chest, leaving him relieved and knowing he could sleep untroubled. Minerva walked quietly out of the hospital wing, a plan already forming. She knew that if Albus were fired, as he likely would be, that would leave her as headmaster. She wanted to use this to cancel the tournament that had been planned if at all possible, hopefully before the students caught wind of the fact it had been planned at all. It was a ridiculous dangerous game, it would likely cause harm and interfere with her beloved Quidditch. Vastly more importantly, however, she had an overwhelming fear and suspicion that someone would try to get Harry involved, and she was determined that no one would ever put her child in harm’s way ever again.


End file.
